The Faded Alibi

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2026-08-20 17:54:23 -

The Faded Alibi

The banquet hall of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, Regional Command West, smelled of roasted pheasant and floor wax. It was a sterile, polished smell, the kind that masked the dampness of the earth below. You sat at the head of the table, your uniform pressed to a severity that felt less like discipline and more like armor. The medals on your chest caught the light of the crystal chandeliers,...

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